Wolf Bride (29 page)

The question of Wolf’s whereabouts kept nagging at her as she followed his friend. His absence was a thorn driven deep into her heart. Painfully she considered the various explanations for his disappearance. A demanding mistress from before his marriage, perhaps, who had reclaimed his attention. Or a tempting new lover, some pretty woman who had caught his eye in recent days.

‘Sir?’ When Hugh paused at the foot of a broad, torchlit staircase, she finally managed to catch up with him, hampered by her full skirts. Her voice was breathless. ‘I pray you, sir, where is my husband?’

His face tightened. ‘Follow me.’

‘But—’

‘You must follow me, Lady Wolf,’ he insisted, his voice suddenly harsh.

He fell into step beside her as they began to ascend the stairs. When she looked at him in confusion, not recognising Wolf’s smiling friend in this cold-faced stranger, Hugh placed a warning hand on her arm.

His voice was a wasp in her ear, stinging her into silence. ‘Ask no questions. Say nothing. You are being watched.’

The chamber where the king had been dining privately that evening was not vast and glittering, as she had expected, but rather a small, intimate space where he could be with friends, unobserved by the rest of the court. A few steps behind Hugh Beaufort, she slipped between the two armed guards on the outer doorway, through a darkened antechamber where several men stood whispering together, turning to survey her as she passed, and thence into the dining chamber itself.

Her gaze swept the room uneasily, wondering who would be there to witness her humiliation.

A small table had been set with fine ware, though the platters stood half-empty now, with food spilt on the rushes beneath. The chairs had been pushed back, and the diners now reclined on cushion-covered couches in the soft, flickering firelight of the hearth. In the corner, a woman sat plucking at a harp, her gaze discreetly averted from the royal party.

On the low table between the couches, a chess board had been set, with delicate, carved ivory pieces. King Henry lay at his ease, watching a young woman in a gossamer-thin gown who knelt before him on the floor, apparently pondering her next move. He was speaking to the man reclining next to him, just out of her line of vision, his voice light with slurred amusement as he recounted some disreputable tale. Soft laughter indicated the presence of another woman, perhaps sitting next to the unseen courtier.

Then the king turned his head and caught sight of Hugh, patiently waiting at his elbow.

‘Ah, Master Beaufort. Well, have you brought the lady?’ he demanded loudly. ‘Come along then, man. Bring her forward, let us see her.’

She could tell from his voice that the king was very drunk. A cold prickle of unease stirred under her skin. Nonetheless, she stepped round Hugh and into the firelight at his gesture, dropping onto her knees before the king.

‘Your Majesty,’ she murmured, head bent.

‘A pretty piece, as I have always said,’ the king commented, slurring his words, and she guessed he must be addressing the man next to him. ‘And yet you tell me she does not please you as she should, Lord Wolf.’

With a shock that left her pale and breathless, Eloise realised that the other man in the room was Wolf.

What was he doing here with the king . . . and these disreputable women?

There was a roaring in her ears, and for a terrible moment she thought she would faint. Her hands began to tremble, and she clasped them tightly before her, not daring to look up for fear of what she might see.

‘What are these disobedient women about, eh?’ the king continued, blithely unaware of her struggle. ‘God’s blood, a man of your standing should be allowed to divorce his wife for disappointing him in bed. But I daresay the priests would disagree once again, damn them, and I cannot tear all the churches down.’ He laughed richly. ‘So what do you intend to do about her, my lord?’

‘I have not yet decided, Your Majesty.’ To her horror, Wolf sounded calm, almost amused. ‘What is your opinion on this matter of disappointing wives?’

King Henry laughed again, and glancing up from under her lashes, she saw him clap Wolf on the back. ‘You have come to the right man for counsel, my friend. Divorce the wench, I say, and take yourself a new wife. Her father is a sound man, he will understand. If she has not been meddled with . . .’

‘Oh, I have meddled with her,’ Wolf admitted lightly. ‘I must have an heir, Your Majesty, whether the begetting of him proves a trial or not.’

‘You do not have to say any more on that score.’ The king shifted angrily on the couch, and his tone became biting, even savage. ‘I understand your dilemma perfectly. Though you surprise me. I always had my eye on little Eloise when she was among Anne’s maids of honour, for she has something about her . . .’

‘Pray do not waste your time, Your Majesty,’ Wolf interrupted. ‘My wife is an icicle in bed.’

His voice too was slurred, but more heavily, as though he had been drinking some hours. He lowered his voice as though to spare her feelings, though he must have known that she could hear every word of his drunken complaint. As could every other person in the room, she thought painfully.

‘Eloise is one of these women who lie rigid as stone and wait for you to mount them, so that you feel like a rapist by the end of it. On our wedding night, Your Majesty, I would have had more joy with a marble statue. But Holy Church has seen us wed. So I must cleave to this sorry wife for an heir and take my pleasures in another’s bed.’

Her cheeks burnt with humiliation, and her hands clenched into fists.

I hate you for this, Wolf.

King Henry had risen from the couch. He came towards her, stumbling in his drunkenness, and stood with his legs slightly apart, as though about to force her into some lewd act.

His hand came under her chin, dragging her face up into the firelight. ‘Yes, you are right, you are right. Her mouth is over-large. She has not much beauty, and her hair is too fair.’

She waited, unsure why she had been summoned, unless it was merely to be scourged with the shame of her husband’s loathing and contempt.

‘Speak truthfully now, for I am your king . . . Did you never see my wife with another man? I know you were often privily in Anne’s chambers, you and your little friends from the Maidens’ Hall.’

King Henry’s voice grew rough, and she suddenly realised that he was tortured by the same cruel stabs of jealousy which afflicted her.

‘Do not look at me with such fear, Eloise. I shall not punish you for Anne’s fault, you may speak freely here. Perhaps you overheard her speak too sweetly to one of her musicians? A Flemishman called Smeaton?’

‘I did not, Your Majesty.’

‘Never?’ he demanded, pressing her violently. ‘Never?’

‘No, Your Majesty.’

‘For if you are lying to me, I swear before God that I will have your head for it, pretty or not.’ His voice thundered at her, his words beating about her ears. ‘Now tell the truth and shame the devil, did you ever see Queen Anne play me false?’

She shook her head, her throat tight with unshed tears. This at least she could do for the unfortunate queen. ‘I swear it on my honour, Your Majesty.’

‘On your honour, Lady Wolf?’ His leering gaze dropped to her tight bodice, where her breasts swelled fashionably upward, as though inviting a man’s touch. ‘I never knew a woman yet who held her honour dear enough to swear on it. Well, well.’ He licked his lips and his eyes glinted in the firelight, as though he had been suddenly distracted from his interrogation. ‘Your hair is truly lustrous . . .’

‘Your Majesty,’ Hugh interjected, clearing his throat. ‘Forgive me, sire, but Sir Thomas Cromwell is at the door here, begging an urgent audience with Your Majesty.’

As the king moved away, reluctantly turning his attention to the waiting men in the antechamber, Eloise took the opportunity to glance in Wolf’s direction. At once, she wished she had not done so, or that she had looked with a more guarded heart.

Through the tears in her eyes she saw that he was not alone on the couch. A beautiful woman lay beside him, her arms draped about his neck, watching Eloise with a knowing smile. Her curly red hair hung loose to her waist, and her breasts were not even confined to her courtly gown but bulged freely over her bodice, displaying large, dusky nipples that had sharpened to points. She was some five years older than Eloise, her blue eyes full of cruel laughter, and her reddened mouth bore the signs of recent, vigorous kissing.

But that was not what Eloise was looking at.

Her gaze was fixed on Wolf’s arm, wound so intimately about the woman’s waist. He was looking down into her heart-shaped face, as though deeply in love, and Eloise could not prevent a tiny choking cry of rage and despair.

How dare Wolf come to her bed last night, demanding his rights to her body, when he had this shameless woman to pleasure him at court?

God’s blood, if he had thought she was frigid before, she would soon teach him the meaning of ice.

‘I am no marble statue, my lord Wolf,’ the woman whispered seductively, then stretched up to kiss him on the mouth.

Wolf kissed her deeply, then slid his mouth down her throat to the swell of her breasts. ‘That you are not, my sweet Kate,’ he said thickly, and Eloise heard the unmistakeable slur of lust in his voice. ‘A creature of pure fire.’

Behind her, King Henry had returned with Hugh Beaufort and Cromwell, hovering dark-robed in his wake. His voice grown cold, he was saying to his chief advisor, ‘No, I have not yet decided the manner of her dispatch, given a verdict of guilt. I know the law prescribes death by burning in such a case. But whatever her sins towards me and God, I cannot . . . We must find another way.’

‘The block, Your Majesty?’

‘Aye, perhaps.’ The king stared down into the fire. He wiped a hand across his brow, as though uncomfortably hot. ‘But not with a common axe. She is still a queen anointed.’

‘With a sword, then?’ Cromwell mused. ‘It will be hard to find an executioner skilled enough.’

‘Then you must send to France for one. It is their custom there to behead with a sword, is it not?’

‘As you say, Your Majesty.’

The king turned and gave a sudden hoarse shout of laughter to see Wolf in the arms of another woman, and Eloise still kneeling red-faced before her husband.

‘Sweet Jesu, my lord.’ He took up a cup of wine and drained it. ‘Your wife is still here, Wolf. Is this seemly?’

Wolf’s face was flushed a hard red, his eyes glittering. ‘Forgive me, sire. I forgot myself.’

‘I must speak privately with Cromwell,’ King Henry told him. He dismissed him with a wave of his hand. ‘You had best leave Mistress Langley to her husband and take your own pretty wife to bed. If you want my advice, you’ll warm her up with your hand a little if you wish to have an heir.’

‘Yes, Your Majesty.’

‘Master Beaufort, I will speak with you more on the subject of the northern monasteries tomorrow.’

Hugh bowed, and silently withdrew. From the doorway, his eyes sought hers, a pitying look in them, as though ready to offer her his help. Eloise felt herself colour with shame, but looked away, keeping her chin high. She would not accept help from any man, even one as charming and friendly as Hugh.

However much her husband had humiliated her in the king’s presence tonight, however badly he might hurt her in the future, this argument was between her and Wolf alone. She would not draw Master Beaufort into her private hell, however much she suffered there.

With some difficulty, Wolf disentangled himself from his mistress, staggering to his feet. On his way to the door he stumbled over a lost shoe, catching himself in time against the table where they had dined. Eloise rose and followed him, despising him for his vile licentiousness. Why had she been so foolish, blindly admiring her husband’s determination and resolve, not seeing what lay behind that façade, the libertine who thought so little of his wedding vows that he would all but bed another woman before her?

‘To bed,’ Wolf muttered, gripping her by the elbow as she tried to stalk ahead of him. ‘We will go together, madam wife, if you please, and at my pace.’

The two women had been dismissed from the king’s presence too, wrapping themselves in cloaks before being escorted away by one of the guards. Mistress Langley shot her a furious glare as she passed, then blew a kiss to Wolf, which he received with a hard look. No doubt even he found it uncomfortable to parade his mistress before his new bride.

‘Until tomorrow eve, my lord,’ Kate promised him softly as she turned away.

Watching this exchange, the torment in her heart that Eloise had struggled to hold at bay during the king’s questioning returned tenfold. It threatened to overwhelm her spirit, cast her down to a place where she would crawl like the abject fool that she was, all the pride whipped out of her.

Like a sick animal she allowed herself to be dragged along beside him through the torchlit corridors, not able to meet his eyes, though more than once she felt his gaze on her profile. She had feared he still loved Margerie after seeing him with that paper, marked with the name of his former betrothed, in his secret tower room. Instead she found there were other women in line for his attentions.

Turning her face away, Eloise sunk her teeth into her wrist rather than let him hear her moan of distress. Why could she not stop torturing herself like this? Wolf was a wealthy and influential nobleman, and a man with a strong sexual appetite.